


Blue Bloods

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 08:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Reaper is...curious about Widowmaker’s biology. In what ways is she different from a normal woman? As it turns out, they have more than a little in common.





	Blue Bloods

**Author's Note:**

> First time doing really, really heavy dom/sub. I played with it a bit for my Symmetra/Hanzo story and the Bayonetta one, but this is the furthest I've gone with it. Let me know how I did!

“We really fucked you up, didn’t we?”  
  
Widowmaker turned slowly towards the doorway of her chamber as the barrier opened and closed, drawing out the movement until her golden eyes met the owl-skull mask of the man who’d been speaking to her as he walked in. The triangular shoulder pads widened his silhouette, making him appear to be a much larger man than he already was. His black leather hood was hanging loosely over his face covering, framing the top in shadow. From a distance, it would be impossible to judge his intentions under so much covering, but it wouldn’t be hard to make him out in a crowd.  
  
“Not ‘we’, I guess.” Reaper continued. ”That was before my little deal. But still...just look at you.” He hissed underneath his mask, and Widowmaker could see particles of what looked like smoke flowing through the gaps in the face covering, unimpeded by the fabric stretched between the hard white surface.  
  
“Clarify, Agent Reaper.” Widowmaker spoke in a low, even tone, her gaze unwavering. She knew exactly where his eyes were beneath his mask and stared at them, uncaring if his gaze shifted elsewhere.  
  
“Cut the crap, ‘Widowmaker’. You know what I’m talking about.” Reaper extended a clawed finger and jabbed it towards her face. She wasn’t certain if he was pointing at her eyes, or the fog misting in front of her cold, plush lips.  
  
“Ah. _Les changements_.” Widowmaker’s monotone would be unnerving to most, but Reaper was used to strange speaking styles. Moira had inoculated him against unsettling vocal ranges. “What specifically are you referring to? _Mes yeux? Mon peau_?”  
  
“Everything.” Reaper groused. “You’re barely a fucking human anymore. How can you be, given who you used to be, A…” He trailed off. He hated it when Sombra brought up his real name and he wasn’t going to do that to Lacroix. Or, rather, to Widowmaker. Akande didn’t care, but Reaper wasn’t going down that road.  
  
“ _Oui_? What is your point, Agent Reaper?” Her dead stare was extraordinarily focused. Perfect for sighting down targets at impossible ranges, not so great for carrying on a conversation. She no longer cared about that or anything else.  
  
“Can you feel anything?”  
  
“ _Non_.”  
  
“Not even…” He reached his hand further forward and downward, then stopped himself, his finger hovering a hair in front of Widowmaker’s covered breast. He could so, so easily reach out and touch her, and she wouldn’t protest. She couldn’t. Reaper could do _anything_ he wanted to her, and Widowmaker would take it without complaint.  
  
But he couldn’t do it. Reaper couldn’t bring himself to cross that line. So instead he tilted his head up to meet her eyes, then back down to her cleavage, signalling wordlessly, and the blue-skinned woman nodded.  
  
Reaper had felt more than a few breasts in his life, mostly in his days as Gabriel Reyes. Sinking his covered fingers into Widowmaker’s right tit, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected: plush and squishable, with a peaked nub and raised skin around the center, covered by her uselessly plunging neckline. His other hand came up to roll the other side of her chest and he turned his gaze towards Widowmaker’s.  
  
“Moira wasn’t kidding. I can barely even feel your heartbeat. Nothing yet?”  
  
“ _Non_.” Widowmaker wasn’t lying. Certainly, she felt the pressure of his hands on her, the slight ache of her tits being squished, pushed and groped beneath Reaper’s iron grip, but the sensation didn’t elicit any pleasure. She didn’t even have a memory of what it felt like to react positively to such actions, even though it surely must have happened.  
  
For all it was worth, Reaper’s hands were a dead weight on her breasts. “Are you quite finished?”  
  
“No.” Now it was Reaper’s turn to be curt. Hooking his thumbs between Widowmaker’s tits and her suit, he pulled away hard, the elastic material stretching until her breasts popped free. Like the rest of her, they were a pale blue, the nipples and areolas a light purple in the sea of her skin. Swinging slightly, they came to rest, no longer propped up by the tension of her suit. Widowmaker still had a ballerina’s build, and that extended to her breasts: light and on the more modest side, even if they were a handful.  
  
Still, Reaper’s focus wasn’t on her chest, even as he brought his right hand back to knead and squeeze her tit. Instead, his intent had ventured elsewhere, and he looped his left hand around Widowmaker’s waist to pull her towards him. She didn’t flinch or even gasp in surprise as he might’ve expected, maintaining that icy focus. His fingers quested down the small of her back, rubbing against the covered curve of her spine before coming to rest on her ass.  
  
And what an ass it was. Reaper would be lying if he said it hadn’t caught his eye before, but now that he could actually feel Widowmaker’s buttocks beneath his hands, he was happy to find it as receptive as he’d imagined. Curling his fingers, he felt her rear, firm and athletic as it was, yield to his grip, surrounding his clothed fingers in the softness and succulence of Widowmaker’s butt cheek.  
  
“And now?”  
  
“ _Non_.” Widowmaker wasn’t sure what Reaper was going for, but she was almost curious to see where this went. So far, he hadn’t done anything worthy of breaking the barrier that locked her sensation away, and she couldn’t see what he could do to do so. His hands on her tit and ass were presences, pressure without feedback. There, but not important enough for her body to react.  
  
She opened her mouth to ask him to get on with it and paused when she felt him jerk forward, hips pushing towards her. Now he was grinding his crotch against hers, and despite their height difference she could definitely feel the bulge in his suit press against her covered slit, jutting up to push against her pelvis. Still, the sensation was neutral: even if Reaper’s erection was rubbing against her clit, she wasn’t getting much in the way of stimulation.  
  
“Let me guess. Nothing, still?”  
  
“ _Oui_.” She rolled her eyes. “How much more time are you planning on wasting on this?”  
  
“As long as it takes. What normally ‘works’ for you?”  
  
Widowmaker snorted, a decisively graceless sound for a woman of unparalleled grace. “Nothing. Only the moment of the kill makes me feel alive.”  
  
“Hrm.” Reaper was silent for a long moment, his hands roughly pawing at her tit and ass, breath echoing against his mask. Then, faster than Widowmaker thought he’d be capable of in such a setting, his hand lifted up off her ass and fell back down with a resounding _slap_ , her behind quaking under the force of his strike against her covered rear. Just as quickly, the hand groping her tit pulled away and then struck her skin there, her chest jiggling and swaying from the force of Reaper’s blow.  
  
And for the first time, Widowmaker felt something. A spark, a dull thud of pleasure, but it was undeniable. Reaper noticed, and she knew he was grinning beneath his mask.  
  
“Might not be a killing blow, but I think I’ve found what’ll set the little _araña_ off.” He chuckled darkly, but Widowmaker couldn’t feel fear even if it would have fit. For the first time since Reaper had started touching her, something stirred inside her.  
  
_Hunger_.  
  
She didn’t protest when Reaper thrust her forward, slamming her back against the wall hard enough to and bringing a claw down from her chest to rip along the bottom of her v-neck. The material parted easily beneath his finger, tearing and jerking as he literally ripped Widowmaker’s suit off of her. Her crotch was bared, but he kept going, pulling and gripping at her clothing until she was left naked and he stepped back to admire his handiwork.  
  
Widowmaker stood tall and proud, unwilling to be cowed by her nudity, breasts high and shoulders wide, stare cold and haughty. She may as well have been clothed, for how little she reacted to the air on her skin, but Reaper was more focused on the shimmer between her vaginal lips. She was aroused.  
  
And dammit, so was he.  
  
With a grunt, he popped off his belt buckles—why did he have _three fucking belts_ —and slipped his pants down, the leather clinging to his skin. His erection jutted forward and his balls swung beneath, a sickly grey like the rest of his skin, an uncomfortable spot between the deathly pale of the grave and the dark tan of his life. Hefting his dick in his hand, he tilted his head down and towards his length.  
  
“You know what to do.”  
  
Widowmaker didn’t move. “Perhaps you should remove your mask. I would prefer to see your face.”  
  
“I’m not gonna-”  
  
“...Before I put my mouth to your cock.” Widowmaker let her tongue swivel around her lips, painting them in a sheen of her saliva before biting the bottom of her mouth. It was a excessively sultry gesture, almost slutty, and would normally come off as hilariously overcompensating for such a frosty woman. But Reaper was too busy thinking with his dick to care.  
  
Still, he couldn’t force himself to rush. Was he willing to violate this taboo, this superficial isolation he’d imposed upon himself? For what...a chance to cum inside of some blue skank?  
  
He bit his tongue. That wasn’t fair. Reaper had maintained that he’d treat Widowmaker with all the respect he could, broken woman that she was. And she’d been polite. With a murmur of assent, he lifted the hand grasping his to hook it around the latch on the right side of his mask, then the other, pulling forward with a click and letting the covering fall to the floor.  
  
Widowmaker didn’t react, but even she found it hard to not step away from him. Reaper’s face was...difficult to look upon, his eyes a baleful red, skin spidered with lethargic veins and cracked with scars. Worst of all...he seemed to be vanishing and reappearing before her very eyes, the extremities fading in and out of sight in puffs of what looked like smoke, but were otherwise without scent. At one point, a sliver of his cheek seemed to peel away, revealing his teeth for a split-second before the flesh reappeared.  
  
_Ba-bump_. Widowmaker’s heart beat for the second time in what had to be a few seconds. For her, that was an elevated heart rate. Reaper was that much of a shock.  
  
“Yes, yes, marvel at the ugly terrorist. You still want that mask off?”  
  
He bent down to pick up the covering and felt her delicate fingers enclose around his wrist. Snarling, Reaper looked back at her with a retort ready to go, only to feel Widowmaker’s finger on his smoky lips.  
  
“Non. Keep it off, _mon cher_.” Slipping forward into a squat, Widowmaker lowered herself until Reaper’s cockhead was dangling in front of her, hard and proud and aching to be in something. With a whistle onto his tip, she leaned forward, taking him between her lips, letting the crown of his length slide forward along her purple tongue.  
  
Reaper grit his teeth, resisting the urge to grab her by her violet hair and pull her onto his length, fucking her face. He wanted to get his dick wet in preparation for the main event, not cum down her throat. The fact that she’d agreed to this told him that she’d foreseen where it would lead, and he wasn’t going to spoil that.  
  
Still...Widowmaker knew what she was doing, her pillowy cock-sucking lips wrapped tight around his shaft as she took him deeper, slathering him with lengthy swipes and wraps of her tongue around his girth. It took him a moment to remember what he’d realized would work, and get the nerve to play it out.  
  
“Your mouth doesn’t let loose a lotta emotion, but it’s damn good for dicksucking, don’t you think? 'Bout the only thing it's good for.” He sneered, his ruined nose curling upwards as he laid his hands on Widowmaker’s hair. Gently. But as a reminder of their presence, his presence, and his capacity to take things further if he wanted to. “You look fucking perfect with my cock in your lips, Widowmaker.”  
  
She didn’t reply, didn’t even glare up at him at his coarse and degrading language. Rather, Widowmaker was starting to feel something approaching excitement flow through her veins. If killing was supposed to be the only thing that let her feel any pleasure anymore...perhaps something close to it might get her off the same way, even if directed at her? Would degradation and domination satisfy the same triggers in her reconfigured mind? She could only hope.  
  
So she kept her mouth on Reaper’s cock and let him spew insults at her, feeling his weighty prick rub against her teeth as she let them graze the skin. Surprisingly, Reaper’s length was cool to the touch and she couldn’t feel his heartbeat through the vibrations of his length: if his heart was still pumping, she couldn’t tell. As Widowmaker felt his cockhead knock against the back of her throat, she marveled at how he didn’t have any pubic hair to irritate her nose with, his skin as featureless as her own if less smooth. Even the width of the tip of his dick blocking her windpipe did little to slow her progress. Her breathing was already slowed by Talon’s conditioning: suppressing her gag reflex came naturally. Still, the thickness of Reaper’s shaft was somewhat discomforting, if only for its effect on her jaw. But she persisted, struggling forward, until at last her lips kissed the base of his shaft, pressing together tightly, the tip of her tongue sneaking out to lick at Reaper’s balls. A hand wavered down to her slit, and she let her fingers prod gently between her nether lips. The pressure was vaguely pleasant, but not nearly what she knew she should be feeling with her palm on the hood of her clitoris.  
  
“Wow, you’re really slipping it to yourself while swallowing my dick? Whore.”  
  
There it was: a sharp spike of pleasure, here and gone, faster than she could use it to cum. But it was possible. If Reaper just kept up his dirty talk...  
  
“I’d love to fuck your face like the cheap whore you are, but I’ve got bigger plans.” Reaper grunted and tapped her hair, watching her slowly pull off his dick, tongue flicking out to lap along his shaft as he chuckled. “Hurry up. I know my dick’s great, but we’ve got better things to be doing.”  
  
With a light gasp and the barest of blue flushes to her cheek, Widowmaker at last separated her throat from Reaper’s dick, her breath cool against his cockhead. Resting it against her forehead, she paused. “Your cock. It is cold.”  
  
“Yeah? Didn’t stop you from gulping it down.”  
  
“I could not feel the heartbeat. You feel dead.”  
  
“I sorta _am_ dead. And do you usually take heart rates through dicks, Widowmaker?”  
  
“Not the point.” She took the base of Reaper’s cock in hand and slapped it across her cheeks a few times, letting her spitshine drip onto her forehead, eyebrows and cheeks. By the time she was done, her face was taking on the light turquoise pallor that Reaper assumed had to be indicative of bloodflow to her face. “ _C'est comme moi_. A slow heartbeat. Cool. We are more alike than you would like to believe, Reaper.”  
  
He didn’t have a response to that. He wanted to attribute that to how gorgeous she looked, with a ruined face resting below his cock, his balls on her chin. The knowledge that she’d smacked herself silly on his dick. But it wasn’t that simple, and she was right. Perhaps he did have an uncomfortable amount in common with Widowmaker. A woman broken and bent by Talon in a specific image, as far from the woman she used to be as possible. Himself altered beyond recognition, although under significantly different circumstances and consent levels. The same symptoms.  
He wasn’t sure how he was able to maintain an erection, or how he had the nerve endings to orgasm. But he was thankful both were in a better state than his face.  
  
Mulling over the parallels weren’t terribly conducive to maintaining an erection, he realized, shoving the thoughts from his mind. With an exaggerated growl, he stepped back and dragged Widowmaker up with him, his length dragging along her chest and stomach until it rested against her slit.  
  
“Cute. I see your point. But you’re still taking this dick, Widowmaker. Come here.” Without waiting for a reply, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was a stupid decision: he had no guarantee that his lips would remain corporeal long enough, and this was about pushing their boundaries, not something sappy. Still, she humored him, meeting his mouth with her own, moaning and sucking against his face, two chill faces touching each other until they warmed up to something that could almost be called lukewarm.  
  
With a gasp, he pulled away, saliva strings connecting their mouths snapping from the distance. Widowmaker’s eyes were clouded, her gaze a little less iron-focused than before. This was the closest he’d seen her to being drunk with pleasure. He’d have to do better.  
  
“Get over here.” He ordered, moving back until he could sit down on the edge of Widowmaker’s bed. Talon’s Venice base was surprisingly comfortable, able to accomodate more than a few agents at a time, and Widowmaker had her own quarters. Lucky for her, and lucky for Reaper now, too. All the easier to fuck her in.  
  
Lying back, he spread himself out on her bed, cock jutting up and throbbing with anticipation. She stood before him, flushed and unfocused and slick with want, and knew what to do.  
  
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep playing their game, though.  
  
“Hop on my cock. We got one last ride to test out, _puta_.”  
  
Widowmaker felt the smallest of ripples shiver through her. A shudder? Or the closest approximation of one she could experience, anyway. Whatever it was, something about the way Reaper talked to her, at her, was working. The last time she’d gotten this “hot” and bothered, she’d been pulling off an assassination. This was a much less intense way to get there, at least.  
  
Extending her legs to either side of his and resting her shins against his thighs, Widowmaker spread herself and crouched, lowering onto his length. When the girth of his cockhead kissed her pussy lips, something electric seemed to jolt up her body from her crotch, and she couldn’t stop from letting out a moan and sinking down, his girth spreading her out and turning her legs to ice. With a gasp, she slipped forward, burying herself on him to the root, nearly falling back until his clawed hands shot forward and he dug them into her exposed ass cheeks, holding her on him.  
  
“Not so fast, Widowmaker. I get it, being wrapped around my dick is a hell of a thing. But let’s keep you on me.” Securing his grip on her ass, he thrust upwards, burying himself just a little bit farther than Widowmaker had thought possible.  
  
She wasn’t warm on the inside, but she wasn’t cold. To Reaper, that was perfectly fine with him: too hot, and the contrast would be too sharp to be anything but sexy. Too cold, and he’d be hard pressed to stay erect. Widowmaker’s pussy was great, clutching on him, wrapping around him, and he made sure to let her know.  
  
“You feel fucking great. Like you were fucking _made_ for this. You sure Talon didn’t reprogram you to be the group’s slut? It’s a role you fit well. Nearly as well as you fit around my cock. Huh, Widowmaker?” He swore and slapped her ass, rocking his hips, shoving himself up and down along the inside of her cunt, delighting in how she bore down on him when he spoke. He was _definitely_ getting off like this.  
  
Widowmaker’s mind was a flurry of confusion. The pressure in her slit was anything but the absent presence of before. Now, Reaper’s body in and on her was riling her up, provoking reflexes and emotions she’d learned to only associate with violence. The chill in her body was thawing, if only slightly, her heartbeat accelerating to a level that would’ve been symptomatic of bradycardia in a regular human. One of her hands clutched her own shin as it hung off the edge of the bed, draped across Reaper’s thigh, the other running down her stomach to caress the hood of her slit.  
  
She brushed the sensitive button and tensed up, Reaper’s dick seeming to press against her inner walls even harder than before as she tightened down on him. He growled. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Good. Wouldn’t want you to forget why you’re _really_ here: to get me off.”  
  
Huffing loudly, Widowmaker didn’t respond, trying to bounce against his thrusts, meeting his movements with her own, grinding and swiveling her hips and waist, trying to get every part of Reaper’s thick _fucking_ cock to rub against her _just_ right. Her breasts swayed and swung from her exertions, and she thought she could feel sweat, her thighs were so slick. That had to be a trick of her mind: she didn’t get warm enough to sweat anymore. Whatever the case, Reaper’s girth was stretching and wringing her out, and she couldn’t stop moving with him.  
  
“ _Puta_.”  
  
Every time he lashed out at her, she recoiled in pleasure, not revulsion.  
  
“Blue bitch. You’re addicted to my dick, aren’t you?”  
  
Reaper started to match the pace of his insults with his thrusts, jerking his hips forward to press his flared cockhead as deep into her as he could on every pause. He released one of her ass cheeks to deliver a hard, ringing _smack_ to Widowmaker’s rear, feeling it quake and settle from the excessive force of his strength. He didn’t let up, letting loose slap after slap, raining flat-handed blows onto her rear, leaving them stained a darker blue than her skin.  
  
“Fucking... _dios_ , you’re gonna get me to cum. You want me to fill you up, cumslut? You kinky like that?”  
  
WIdowmaker was hotter than she could ever remember, her heart pounding in her ears at intervals she couldn’t believe. The ache and soreness on her butt was matched only by how much more she wanted it, wanted the violence, the power play. And through it all, Reaper kept pounding her, spreading her wide on his shaft, talking down to her while being down below her.  
  
“You’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you?!” With a yowl, Reaper dug his claws into Widowmaker’s asscheeks and came, damaged nerves flaring to life to let him feel a glorious wave of heat and vitality throughout his crotch, extending to his whole body. His awareness shrank to a pinpoint of existence: his dick, relentlessly jerking up into Widowmaker’s cunt even as his balls twitched and he filled her with his cream.  
  
Widowmaker let out a keening wail, her flesh turning hot, hot, hot as she felt Reaper fill her up with his load and keep going, balls determined to vacate whatever nut they had to give. Her own body whined and cried out for more even as she felt herself cum, muscles spasming and twitching furiously throughout her core and crotch, clutching at Reaper’s shaft as that same unyielding prick brought her over the edge.  
  
Then she felt it: a piercing, scalding stab of feedback, centralized on her right ass cheek. It took her a moment to realize what had happened as she felt the scalding fade to an extremely uncomfortable throb. Reaper had dug his clawed fingers so deeply into her ass that he’d pierced the skin.  
  
And the best part was, that got her off even _harder_.  With another yowl, Widowmaker’s orgasm extended into convulsions and a mind-melting buzz of heat and pressure, pushing down against coherent thoughts like a fuzzy cotton quilt. Only this time, the “quilt” was cumming thanks to getting hurt. The old expression held true. It really was _la petite mort_.  
  
She didn’t mind. If it got her off better than killing, Widowmaker would chase this pain however she could. Sliding forward and off of Reaper’s length, she let herself sprawl across his covered chest.  
  
For the briefest of moments, Reaper regretted the severity to which he’d taken their activities, seeing the perforation he’d made in her asscheek. Then he returned to reality. Widowmaker had felt something, and so had he. That had to be worth some meaningless words and a little stab wound that Moira would be able to patch up, right?  
  
Still, something didn’t sit right with Reaper, leaving it to end like this. Widowmaker’s breathing had slowed back down, and then slowed again: she was probably sleeping now. No risk she’d wake up. And nobody else would see him. So he had no reason to hold back.  
  
Slowly, Reaper let his arms wrap around her, cradling her in his embrace, holding her against his covered chest, cum leaking from Widowmaker’s slit onto his thigh. He’d move them by the time she woke up, he vowed, chin resting in her hair. He wouldn’t let himself fall asleep like this, he vowed, as his eyes drifted shut.  
  
Controlling her breathing was easy, and faking sleep was even easier. Widowmaker had been curious as to what her partner might do when he thought she was no longer watching, and had been prepared for him to toss her off and slip out of the room, having emptied his nuts for the time being. She _hadn’t_ expected him to start cuddling with her like she was some stuffed animal, but the thought was...welcome.  
  
And for a brief moment, the two shared a heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I promise that I'll get to some more vanilla Widowmaker material in the future.
> 
> If you liked this, I've got more on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile).


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